


First Aid

by Mcnamcj



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Protective Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcnamcj/pseuds/Mcnamcj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes back to the tower badly injured after a mission and Natasha takes care of him</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Aid

Steve had been in the shower for a very, very long time. 

Not that Natasha normally thought about these sorts of things. But the realization hit her about forty five minutes after the super soldier had staggered back into the tower post mission, brushing her off with a mumble when she saw the blood on the side of his uniform and the grimace that marred his handsome features with every footstep. He’d disappeared into his room and the shower had turned on soon after and she’d gone about her business. He couldn’t have been hurt that bad, she reasoned. He was walking and he was conscious. Hell, he’d probably be fully healed by the time he emerged from the shower. If he ever emerged. She knew Steve liked to take long hot showers, but this was getting a little ridiculous. She contemplated going into the bathroom to check on him, but she knew that Steve didn’t like to be mother henned and preferred to lick his own wounds. 

Still, if he was seriously injured, he would need first aid and she was the only one around to provide it. Banner, Stark and Hawkeye were out of the country and Thor was off planet. The only reason she was even at the tower was because of a busted ankle that she hoped to get the all clear for by the end of the week. Then her lockdown would be over and she wouldn’t have to contemplate super soldiers and their bathroom habits. Or worry whether or not they were bleeding out all over the tile.

“Jarvis, you there?” she inquired into the air.

“How may I be of assistance, Agent Romanoff?”

“You happen to have any footage of Capt’s mission today?”

“I’ll see what I can find, miss.”

A moment passed and then a screen appeared before her eyes. Natasha’s heart raced with tension as she watch Steve, or more accurately, Captain America, deflect a missile aimed at a school bus with his shield and subsequently, get blown through the bus with the impact, blasting through the windshield and coming to a violent, crashing stop against the emergency back door. The collision was so hard it quaked the bus and shattered out all the windows as the children screamed and cried in a panic. Steve collapsed to the floor of the bus, the metal of the door bent from his impact, reminding her of that crazy scene from the Star Wars movie. Except this wasn’t a movie and the bad guys weren’t through yet. A barrage of gunfire rained out and Steve hurriedly picked himself off the ground sans shield and jumped in front of several kids, taking the bullets that would’ve been their death shots.

When the attack was finally over, she saw Steve personally hustle each and every one of the children off the bus and over to waiting ambulances and police cars, brushing off any offers of paramedics or other emergency workers to give him first aid. The damned hero. At the very least, he had a couple of bullets in him and definitely a few bruised or busted bones from the impact with the bus and that was just what she’d seen in the video. There was no telling what other injuries he’d sustained.

There was a sudden loud crash of glass followed by a thud from Steve’s bathroom and any pause Natasha might’ve had about invading the Captain’s personal space was lifted as she shuffled into his bedroom, booted ankle and all, eager to make sure the super soldier was still breathing.

“Rogers? You okay?” she shouted from just outside the bathroom door, wanting to alert him to her presence.

Her only response was a weak groan and when she turned the corner into the bathroom, she saw why. Steve was splayed out on his side on the floor, half in the shower and half out, bits of glass from the shower door surrounding his shivering, naked form. Blood pooled in a puddle underneath him, trickling down his side and onto the floor. She counted three gunshot wounds all in a cluster just under his right side rib cage. There was also extensive bruising all across his chest and up into his right shoulder, the purple so dark it was nearly black. She had no idea how he’d managed to keep himself upright for as long as he had. She cursed herself for not noticing just how injured he was earlier.

Natasha grabbed a towel off the rack and quickly covered Steve’s naked body, wrapping the towel around him as gently as possible. Steve’s body shook with pain as he unsuccessfully tried to push himself to his feet. “M’ fine,” he mumbled, his words slurred and breathless. “Jus’ slipped.”

“Says the man that can’t even stand up,” said Natasha, placing a grounding palm against his back and wrapping her other hand around his bicep. “Why didn’t you say you needed a sponge bath, Rogers?”

“More of a shower guy,” said Steve, trying once again to stand and failing miserably. He cried out, flinching hard as a wave of pain tore through his body.

“Easy, easy,” said Natasha, working her hand up and down his back in large, slow circles. “Take your time, we’re not in any rush.”

A sparkle of sweat broke out on Steve’s forehead as his body sagged, his head falling against her chest as his breath turned quick and raspy, like he’d just run fifty miles in five minutes and was trying to catch his breath. She tucked him into her, ignoring the feel of his water logged body soaking her clothes, instead pulling him even tighter against her, trying to will any strength she had from her body to his, hoping it would help him find his center again. Her gut clenched when she looked down at her arm and saw it was stained with blood. Steve’s blood. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaky, Cap? I’m sure the medics at the scene would’ve been a lot gentler with the stitches then I’m gonna be.”

A moan poured out of Steve’s lips followed by a pained chuckle. “Didn’t…realize. Was jacked on adrenaline.”

Natasha flashed an acknowledging eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “You just want me to see you naked.” Her eyes roved over his body, appreciating the muscles and sheer power emanating from it despite his injuries. He genuinely was a specimen. Both scientifically and humanly.

“On to me,” said Steve, his voice no louder than a whisper.

“Think you can make it to bed?” Natasha expected a witty retort or a good natured guffaw, maybe even a blush. But what she wasn’t expecting was honest to goodness vulnerability. Steve picked his head off her chest, his eyes moving towards hers but not quite meeting them. “I could…use a little help.”

Natasha tightened her grip on Steve’s arm like a vise, ready to take all of his weight if necessary. “You got it, Cap.”

Steve took a few pained breaths, bracing himself for what was to come, like he was trying to muster all the strength that he could.

“You ready?” she asked after a few moments, wrapping the towel around him a little tighter so he didn’t embarrass himself when they stood up.

Steve bit his lower lip and nodded.

“Okay…one…two…three!”

Natasha pulled with all of her strength and Steve let out a horrendous moan as he got to his feet, his balance shaky at best. She didn’t waste anytime moving forward, noting the way the blood drained from Steve’s face with every passing moment. “Easy does it, Steve,” she said, guiding him away from the glass and out of the bathroom, every step a fight of both their strengths.

“Ahhh,” groaned Steve, doubling over in pain, the motion nearly taking them both to the floor.

“Whoa, whoa, eyes on the prize, Cap, eyes on the prize,” she said, urging them forward with a solid push to his behind.

“Nat,” he breathed out in a panic, his face now drained of all its color, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay conscious.

She lightly slapped him on the cheek. “Five more steps, Steve. No quitting til then.”

“Drive a…hard bargain.”

“Shut up,” she said, taking nearly all of his weight as his feet started to give out. Her hand was slick with blood and a quick glance back to the bathroom showed a further trail of it that made her stomach churn. “Here we go,” she said as she quite literally pushed him into his bed. He fell onto the mattress bonelessly, his legs bent haphazardly over the edge. She pulled his hulking body the rest of the way up, grabbing his legs one at a time and settling them up there as well. Then she went for his underwear drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers that she quickly dressed him in, wanting to give him the respect of modesty.

Not that he seemed to care. His head was buried in the pillow, twisting and turning in pain, his abdomen quivering each time he so much as took a breath.  
She placed a hand on his pec and swept her fingers down gently. “I’m going to fix you up, Steve. Just hang on for me.”

Steve mumbled something unintelligible and then curled onto his side, bringing his legs up, trying to ward off the pain. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said lightly, but Steve merely grimaced, tucking into himself even tighter. She resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair or down his cheek, instead hurrying out to grab some medical supplies, figuring the sooner she treated his wounds, the quicker he’d be out of pain. She wished that Banner was there to help with some of the heavy lifting, especially with the gunshot wounds, but she would just have to do. She grabbed the first aid kit along with some towels and bandages and a few other supplies before returning to Steve’s room. 

She found the Captain passed out cold, his face and body slick with sweat, his skin pale and his injuries looking even more pronounced then when she’d left him. She set down the supplies and gently cupped his neck, pressing a finger to his pulse point. It bounced weakly against her finger, much softer and slower than she would’ve liked. She put an ear to Steve’s mouth and moved a hand to his chest, hearing and feeling the hitching wheeze of his breath, most definitely due to broken ribs that blackened both sides of Steve’s abdomen. There were bruises all over his shoulder as well and while it wasn’t dislocated, he had wrenched the hell out of it. 

Her gaze went back to the three gunshot wounds in his side. She wondered how long they’ve been oozing blood and exactly how much he had lost. None of the wounds on their own appeared that serious or to have hit anything vital, but with three to contend with, she could see why Steve’s body had all but shut down in pain and exhaustion. She mentally kicked the Captain again for being so self sacrificing and putting himself last. One of these days it was going to get him killed, even if it was just his incredibly brave and heroic nature.

The selfish bastard.

Natasha grabbed one of the towels and went back into Steve’s bathroom, soaking the towel with hot water and soap before returning to Steve’s side. She placed the towel directly over the wounds, thoroughly soaking them with the soap and water as Steve’s body shuddered and his skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“Hmmmm,” he muttered, not completely awake but not completely out either.

She dabbed gently at the wounds, removing as much of the blood and grime as she could before rolling his body to the side and doing the same thing to the bloody mess she found on his back.

Steve’s breath started to come hard and fast as whimpers of pain escaped his lips.

“Almost done,” she assured, quickly finishing the clean up job.

Now that she could actually see the wounds, she took a closer look, trying to determine if a bullet was still lodged inside or if he would need stitches. She carefully probed the wounds, trying to ignore the hitches in Steve’s breath even in unconsciousness. She realized that two of the wounds were simply deep grazes and while certainly painful and life sucking, could be fixed with a thick bandage and some disinfectant. The third wound was a thru and thru and definitely needed stitches and probably a gallon of antibiotics for a normal person. But Steve was a super soldier. His body would take care of the rest. She just had to get him stabilized.

She soaked a thick piece of gauze with some disinfectant and secured it over the deepest graze with a large bandage, firmly patting it down against the wound. Steve jumped, grunting at the pain but still not regaining consciousness. She repeated the process with the other graze and Steve’s eyes flickered open, red and blind with pain.

“Nat?” he sputtered, blinking in confusion, trying to focus his gaze.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she busied herself threading the needle for his stitches and not acknowledging him, wanting to keep him foggy and maybe spare him awareness of what she was about to put him through. She held the threaded needle out in front of her, checking it out with one eye, her gut clenching as she took in the bloodied, mangled mess she was about to put back together. It was going to hurt like hell.

She exhaled hard and stabbed the needle through the first ragged piece of skin, pulling the thread firmly through, not pausing for a moment, even as Steve full on whimpered, his stomach muscles clenching and convulsing hard against the invasion. She pushed the needle through the other side, repeating the same torturous process, wincing as the thread got caught up and she was forced to tug it through.

“Aww!” Steve cried, his head thrown back against the pillow, his throat barred, his veins popping. 

She could feel the tension in his belly, could see way he held his abs taut as if trying to defend against an attack. She paused in her mending, placing her hand square across his tight stomach, rubbing her thumb just under his rib cage. “Relax,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’ll be over soon.”

Steve tilted his head up to look at her, his eyes opening as he swallowed a gasp of pain. He let his arm fall down to his waist, gingerly placing his hand over hers, nodding. “Can’t feel a thing.”

Natasha smiled sadly. “You’re still a terrible liar, Rogers.”

Steve shrugged before taking a deep breath, or as deep a breath as his injuries would allow, his abdomen struggling to rise with oxygen under her hand, the skin growing clammy with sweat. He shut his eyes again and settled his head back into the pillow, nodding again, giving her the go ahead.  
She didn’t waste any time. She slid her hand off Steve’s stomach and picked up the needle and thread again, sawing the thread in and out of the wound, in and out.

Steve breathed in short controlled bursts, his eyes clenched shut, his hand coming up to her arm as if to push her off, but he never actually touched her, instead holding himself back, trying to be brave. Trying to just get through it.

She finished the wound in his side and then moved to the exit wound in his back, quickly trying to sew it through. She heard Steve sniffle, not daring to look at his face, knowing that if she saw tears on his cheeks, she wouldn’t be able to finish. “Almost,” she assured, taking care to rush through the next couple of pull throughs of the needle.

“Ah…ugh,” Steve groaned, his hand wrapping around her arm, but still not pushing her off his wound.

She pulled through once, twice, and then a third and final time, ignoring the moans that now helplessly tumbled from Steve’s lips as she tied off the last stitch and clipped off the ends. She pulled his hand off her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “All done,” she said, risking a glance at Steve’s face, her throat lumping at his wet cheeks and ashen skin.

“Thanks, Natasha,” he breathed so softly she could barely make out the words.

“Hang on, let me get you something for the pain.” She lowered his hand down to the bed and then reached into the first aid kit, pulling out a jar of blue cream. Stark had concocted it especially for Steve after he’d gotten burned awhile back to help the super soldier fight the pain and they’d been using it as a painkiller for the Cap ever since. Natasha popped out a dollop and rubbed it on the blackest parts of the bruises on Steve’s shoulder and chest, focusing particularly on the area over his ribs and the freshly patched gunshot. The effect was nearly instant as Steve’s whole body unclenched, sighing into the bed as the Captain’s immediate relief from the pain he’d been facing spread palpably through the air, making her own body puddle in relief. 

By the time she was done rubbing the cream into Steve’s injured body, the super soldier was snoring softly in sleep, peace finally finding him. His injuries already looked better to her as well, like he was healing before her eyes. His body had finally regained its center and the serum could do its work. She set aside the first aid supplies and pulled up his blanket, tucking him in tightly to bed. Then she headed into his bathroom and cleaned up the glass and blood, leaving it so spotless there was no trace Steve had ever fallen through the door. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted. She pulled up a chair next to Steve’s bed, wanting to sit up with him and make sure he was okay. But the calm rise and fall of Steve’s chest was enough to lure into sleep as well, leaving both of the Avengers out for the count.

***

“Natasha.”

Natasha groaned, disoriented, fumbling for her pillow but not finding it.

“Nat.”

She blinked her eyes open and pitched forward as she realize she wasn’t in her bed, but in a chair next to Steve’s bed. The super soldier was looking up at her with amused, sleep filled eyes, his hair a mess, his cheeks pink with health. That was when she remembered the night before. “Steve you’re awake!”  
Steve smiled. “Sorta.”

She reached forward and pulled down his blanket, wanting to check on his injuries. The Captain shrunk away shyly from the exposure. “Hey, this isn’t a free show!”

“Was last night,” said Natasha with a wink.

“Doesn’t count, I was delirious.”

“Naked's naked, Rogers,” she said, noting in awe the healing that had taken place in just a few hours. The gunshot wounds looked days old and most of the bruising had faded to green or yellow. “I think you’re gonna pull through.” She replaced the blanket and stood up, stretching her small frame.

“Did you really stay here all night with me?”

Natasha shrugged. “It would appear so. I’m not sure I was awake for any of it, but…”

“Thought that counts. Thanks. Thanks for everything,” said Steve, his eyes soft and grateful.

Natasha flashed him a sideways grin, feeling all warm and gooey on the inside. “Don’t mention it.”

The bonding moment was interrupted by the sound of Steve’s stomach growling.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Oh I know you don’t think I’m making you breakfast, Rogers.”

Steve gave her a sad puppy look. “But I’m wounded.”

“Oh sure, now that there’s eggs and bacon involved, you’re wounded.”

Steve’s stomach growled again. “Eggs and bacon?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You so owe me for this.”

Steve smiled. “I’m good for it. I promise.”

“You better be.”

That’s all folks!


End file.
